


A Favor

by Calli



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calli/pseuds/Calli
Summary: Griffith is tense enough that even Guts notices.





	A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a piece of self-indulgence to get my writing juices flowing again. It may continue on, and if so I guess the warnings will probably change. 
> 
> It's mostly just Guts + Griffith, but the rest of them kind of pop in at the end. I'm just playing in the space and thought others might enjoy this. There's no sex, just one sided tension. 
> 
> It's un-beta'd, so please forgive errors! If I forgot any tags or didn't label anything right, please let me know and I'll be happy to fix it. I'm new at this pls be gentle. :3

Griffith sat at his writing desk. He poured his attention over lists of supplies, both needed and already obtained. A white quill pen twirled in his fingers as he read. Their new position in the Midland army certainly made obtaining supplies far easier, but he knew that being frugal would only impress the King and embarrass the other lords. Not that they were hard to embarrass. Griffith allowed himself a small grin, and ran the quill tip over his lip.

He slid a blank parchment out from under the pile, and dipped his pen in the inkwell. He paused, his pen poised over the parchment, waiting. Then, a knock.

Griffith didn't bother to look up. “Come in.” He sat the nib onto parchment and began his first stroke.

“Caska said you wanted to see me.”

Guts.

The pen nib snapped at the tip. He'd forgotten that he'd asked Caska to send Guts to him, that had been hours ago. He didn't like being caught by surprise, and he froze momentarily to regain his poise.

“Ah, yes. Guts. I asked her hours ago, what kept you?”he asked, turning slightly to peer at the man standing in the doorway awkwardly.

“I was running drills, like you said. I had a few ideas I wanted to run the raiders through before our next campaign, so I guess I ran a little long. Sorry, won't happen again.”

Griffith turned to face Guts and smiled. “It's no problem. Why don't you come in?”

Guts pulled at the short hair behind his head, then sighed and shut the door behind him. Offices and libraries and any other places like this, filled with paper and dusty smells and the lingering odor of stress; they freaked him out no small amount. It always felt like a trap, a cage that men chose to put themselves in.

Guts looked around, and then moved a pile of books off a chair and sat. “So, what did you need?”

“Oh it was just some small favor I wanted to ask. But don't concern yourself, I've already taken care of it. Your time was better spent with the Raiders, today.” Griffith carefully slid the broken quill and parchment aside and out of Guts' view. “Why don't you tell me how things went? It's been too long since I've watched the Raiders drill.”

Back on familiar ground, Guts smiled. “It went really well. Gaston even had a few ideas that worked out. He's a lot smarter than he lets on.”

Griffith put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand while he watched Guts continue on, animatedly describing the drills, including sound effects. He smiled, a wide lazy thing. He could watch Guts all day.

Guts was in mid gesture, trying to explain a horse maneuver, when he stopped and looked at Griffith. “Hey, are you even paying attention?”

Griffith laughed and sat up. “Of course I am. Just enjoying the show, that's all. Please,”he gestured, “continue.”

Guts eyed Griffith carefully, taking measure of the man before him. He blew out a breath and leaned forward.

Griffith blinked.

“Hey. Look, I know this isn't my place but... I mean, have you been feeling okay? You've seemed off lately.” Guts looked away.

“Oh my. If you've noticed, I must really be stressed out,” Griffith laughed gently.

Guts turned towards Griffith again, his face earnest. “Why don't you come down to the barracks tonight? It'd do the men good to see you, and get you out of this stuffy crow's nest for awhile.”

Griffith leaned his head into his hand again and paused thoughtfully. Then he sighed and shook his head sadly. “While I appreciate your generous invitation, I sadly must decline. These supply orders need to be completed tonight. And, regardless, this is a tension not eased with campfires and ale. But I will try to come soon, I give my word.”

The chair creaked slightly as Guts leaned back into it. He studied Griffith, looking for understanding that he had yet to find. “What eases it, then?” he asked bluntly.

Griffith, again, was taken by surprise. Only Guts, only Guts could catch him off guard. Only Guts was unpredictable, interesting, only he could capture Griffith's attention so completely. He felt a bit of heat rise to his cheeks. “Oh, I suppose massage, or related activities.” This time it was he who looked away, turning back to his list.

“Oh,” Guts took a moment. “Well do you want me to send a woman up for you or something?”

Griffith barked out a laugh. “Oh no, dear Guts. I'm quite fine, I assure you. Why don't you go get yourself some ale, my friend. I can finish this task at least, tonight.”

“Is that an order?” Guts asked softly. Griffith looked at him with a side glance.

“No, you may do as you wish. Stay here and watch me write, if it amuses you. It matters not to me.” Griffith reached for a new quill and parchment.

“Okay,” Guts said, and nudged a stack of books off a footstool to make use of it.

“Guts!” Griffith laughed as the books crashed to the floor. “Do try to not destroy the place in the meantime. I'm only borrowing it, you know.” He looked at the large man, completely out of place. He hadn't expected Guts to stay, although he couldn't say he was displeased with the situation.

“Yeah yeah, all it's good for is wiping your ass, who cares.” he said flippantly. He tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back further, looking around. “I don't know how you can stand being in here all day. No wonder you need a massage. You probably need a good workout too. You're going to get all stiff.”

Griffith's hand twitched. Oh, Guts had no idea. “We must all make sacrifices for the cause. Me more than most, of course,” he murmured, beginning to write.

Guts looked around the room aimlessly. It was quiet, the only sound was the quill scratching across parchment as Griffith wrote, the nearly imperceptible sound of their breathing. Too quiet. It made Guts nervous and tense. Quiet was usually the calm before the storm. Still, he had no intentions of leaving Griffith here alone to face the night. He'd noticed that Griffith had been on edge more of late, and he was starting to get a little concerned. Nothing rattled Griffith usually, and Guts worried what it might mean on the battlefield if their leader was distracted.

Guts picked up a random book and started flipping through it. “Hey, so you got any of these with drawings in them?”

“I believe there's a few atlases on that shelf,” Griffith said, pointing without lifting his head. Guts frowned. That should have at least gotten a smile. Griffth really was stressed. He watched Griffith write, hunched over the desk, scribbling away. His posture was tense, Guts knew the look. He sighed.

“Hey Griffith. Do you want me to just rub your shoulders or something? Or I can go get Caska, if you think that's a woman's job too.”

The scratching stopped. “I didn't know you were a masseuse,” he murmured softly.

Guts stood, and walked over to stand behind Griffith. “Just a mercenary, but it's important to keep your muscles limber in this line of work. I'm not terrible.”

Griffith's form was frozen for a moment, as if a statue sat before Guts. “Not terrible, hm?” Griffith turned to peer at Guts from the corner of his eye. “I couldn't ask something like that of you.”

“Why not? I do everything else you ask me to.”

The white quill danced in Griffith's fingers again. “Don't you think that's a bit too... intimate?”

Guts shrugged. “Like fighting together in battle isn't?”

Griffith burst into a grin at that. “Alright Guts. Please, do what you can.”

Guts mirrored Griffith's grin, and stretched his hands out over his head. “It's been awhile since I did this to anyone who's not me, so let me know if I'm too rough,” he said, placing his hands on Griffith's slender, yet decidedly masculine shoulders.

“Oh, I somehow doubt that you'll be too rough.”

“Is that a challenge?” Guts asked grinning, leaning down to speak into Griffith's ear. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but Guts felt Griffith's shoulders tense up even more.

Not waiting for a reply, he dug his thumbs into the muscles at the base of Griffith's pale neck, and started firmly massaging. Griffith groaned loudly, and the quill slipped from his fingers.

“God, you ARE tense. I've felt stones softer these knots.” Guts chatted, amicably.

Griffith closed his eyes, unable to do anything but surrender to Guts' firm grip, his large calloused hands. Oh, if Guts only knew. When Guts' thumbs worked their way up towards the back of his head, Griffith allowed his head to roll with the motions.

 

Griffith's skin was soft, so soft, almost feminine. Guts almost felt embarrassed about his battle-worn hands and rough skin against the man's soft neck, but Griffith was making small sounds of pleasure, so he continued. He worked deep, driving his thumbs against muscle and bone, working to loosen up the knots and tension binding his friend. He worked his way down a bit, and pressed his thumbs on either side of Griffith's spine, smoothing the muscle out to his shoulder blades.

Griffith gave a shuddering moan. “Ohh... Guts. Mmm. Wait. Stop.”

Guts did, but he didn't lift his hands from the other man's back, only stopped moving. “Too rough?”

“No... its not that.”

Griffith's voice sounded shaky, something that gave Guts pause. He stood up straight, and slid his hands off Griffith's back.

The loss of those warm heavy hands was shocking to Griffith, who closed his eyes but a moment. “Perhaps,” he paused. “Perhaps this may be easier in a reclining position?” he suggested softly, almost as if he wasn't certain he wanted to be heard.

Guts shrugged. He wasn't used to this almost shy, tense version of Griffith. He looked at him curiously.  
“What do you want to do then? Lie on the floor?”

Griffith laughed gently. “That would probably make it worse, I'm afraid.” He worried the corner of the parchment before him with his fingers. “My bedchambers aren't far from here. We could... if... “

“Okay,” Guts agreed causally.

“I'm not asking too much of you?” Griffith asked, his blue eyes searching Guts' face for something unknowable.

Guts shrugged again, and blew out a sigh. “Just quit it already. Order me around like you usually do. You own my ass, remember?”

Griffith's eyes widened at that. “I remember,” he said softly.

“Well then?”

Griffith stared at him a moment longer, then stood. “Follow me.”

~~~

 

The room was small, but clean. Utilitarian. A bed, small table and chair, a chest, and an amour were the only furnishings. An oil lamp was lit, filling the room with a flickering warm light. The room was clean and well kept, but the years of wear were still visible.

“This is the room the King has graciously allowed me to occupy, so that I may be more easily at his disposal,” Griffith explained as he took off his rapier belt and hung it from the back of the chair.

Guts looked around, unimpressed. “Hmm, this is it? No gilded portraits? No plush curtains?”

Griffith looked at him from over his shoulder, then pulled his shirt off over his head. “This suffices... for now.” He dropped the shirt and searched Guts' face intensely. He looked almost ready to speak, when Guts looked to the side and tugged the hair at the base of his neck again.

“I thought you were going to lay down, yeah?”

Griffith pulled the tie from his hair and let the loose silver curls fall around his shoulders, then sat on the bed and tugged off his boots. Leisurely, he stretched out on the bed, stomach down, his head resting on his arms. “Like this?”

Guts looked down at Griffith. Men should not be this beautiful, he thought uncomfortably. Relax, it's just Griffith, he told himself, as Griffith peered up at him.

“Yeah, that's good. Maybe put your arms down at your sides?” Guts sat on the bed, and Griffith could feel the bed shift with his weight. He pulled his arms out from under his head, and rested his hands at shoulder level. “Like this?”

Guts made a face, and slowly leaned in and gently took Griffith's wrists. “Like this,” he said, maneuvering the man's arms until they lay completely at his sides.

Griffith hoped that Guts assumed the shiver that ran through him was from the chill of the air. Warm hands settled onto his back, and he almost purred at the touch. “Oh! Wait! Guts!”

Guts jerked back, “What what?”

“There's a vial of oil in that drawer there. If we're doing this right, we may as well do it right.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Guts fumbled around in the drawer for the vial. It didn't take long to find, Griffith was organized. Guts pointedly did not think about why Griffith would keep a vial of oil in his bedchamber, at least oil that was obviously not for use in a lamp. He sat back on the bed and removed the stopper. The oil smelled lightly of roses and lavender. For some reason, Guts didn't find this to be surprising. He poured some on his hand, and set the vial aside. Griffith laid still as he warmed the oil in his hands before spreading it across the other man's back.

Griffith couldn't help the sigh that escaped him as Guts' large warm and now slick hands slid over his tight muscles. So firm, and commanding. Capable of slaying a hundred men, and still so gentle. Griffith started to let himself relax, ignoring how warm Guts' hands were, how he could still smell the light scent of the other man even with the oils, or the sounds of his breath. He could almost let go, just let himself fall into the security of Guts' presence. He could almost.... no.

Guts found a particularly tight knot and applied pressure, jerking Griffith out of his thoughts. “Ooooh.”

Guts worked his hands against Griffith's back with firm pressure but kept a gentle constant touch, much like one would do with a skittish horse in a stall. He focused on his work, and as he put his weight into it, Griffith's groans got louder. It was distracting. He sounded... he sounded almost lustful. No, it was just Griffith, just finally getting some tension out. He looked down and took in the view, initially intending to see if the lessening of tension was visible yet, but found himself distracted by the curve of Griffith's shoulders, his spine. He wasn't feminine, no one could mistake those shoulders for a woman, but there was a delicate grace in his build. It wasn't unattractive.

He slid his hands up Griffith's back to work his neck, and used the back of one of his hands to brush the hair out of Griffith's face and to the side. Instantly, he regretted it. Griffith's cheeks were flushed, his pale lashes laying on his rosy cheeks, and his mouth just slightly open. Fuck. Even Griffith had no business being this beautiful. He slipped a little, not used to working with oil, distracted by Griffith, and applied a little more pressure than he intended to. Griffith moaned in response, his eyelashes fluttering, and Guts couldn't look away. He ignored the strange feeling in his gut, the warmth of the blood rising to his own cheeks.

Griffith opened his eyes and glanced back. “Mmm, yes, Guts. More like that.”

“You do like it rough,” Guts replied, before realizing what he said.

Griffith smiled. “Indeed, I do.”

“Well then.” Guts got up on his knees and used more of his weight against him, pressing down hard. Griffith grunted.

“Too much?”

“Just right,” Griffith sighed. Guts shrugged, then bore his weight down atop the prone man beneath him. The noises Griffith made was just shy of obscene, and Guts found he couldn't look away. Guts switched to using his elbow and forearm to apply pressure. This of course, put him closer to Griffith's face. He could smell his hair. He poured his frustration onto Griffith's back, trying to not hear the sounds Griffith was making, the sound of slick oiled skin against skin. The sound of his own heavy breathing. It was tough work, he reasoned. Of course.

Griffith was breathing heavy too, biting his lip now. Guts froze for a moment when he noticed. Massages were known to get blood flowing, he knew, but heavy breathing?

“Is something wrong?” Griffith mumbled into the mattress.

“Oh, ah, no, just, um. Everything okay with you? Is this helping?”

Griffith rolled his shoulders back and then stretched his arms over his head. “Mmmmm. Quite.” The slender and now well oiled man rolled onto his side to look at Guts. “I take it you're finished?”

“Oh, uh.” Guts blinked. “Sure I guess.” He couldn't help but stare at Griffith's bare torso, as if he'd never seen it before. Although, he had never seen it in this state, flushed and glistening, chest heaving as if he'd just run. And then... Well, massages just get blood flowing, that's all that was, he reasoned.

“You don't have to stop on my account. Unless you're getting sore. I wouldn't want you to get a cramp.”

Guts cleared his throat. “Uh, well. Was there anything else you needed... massaged?” he choked out, not realizing where his gaze was fixed.

Griffith sighed deeply and then rolled onto his back. “Oh Guts, you do like to torture me, don't you?”

“Torture? Wait, that was torture?”

Griffith's laugh was the sound of silver bells, and he pulled himself up to be sitting next to Guts. Griffith tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, and leaned closer. “The best kind,” he said softly, his sharp blue gaze softer than usual, fixed on Guts.

“Oh...” Guts was starting to feel very out of his element. He looked away from Griffith's intense gaze, and his eyes caught on the red behelit that hung around Griffith's neck.

“Gah, you really do wear that thing all the time, don't you?” he asked, drawing back instinctively.

“All the better to scare you with, I suppose.” Griffith bit his lip. “ Thank you for this, Guts. I really do feel much better. I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.”

“Oh, yeah? Good. Any time.”

Griffith raised his eyebrows. “Any time?”

Guts blinked.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. I own your ass.” Griffith smiled.

Guts shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave, or if he wanted to stay. Griffith was dangerous. He was brilliant and clever and cunning and he made Guts feel like he was worth something more than a few bounties.

Griffith looked down, and gently placed his hand over Guts'. “You always surprise me.”

“Griffith.”

Griffith pulled away and laid back down. “Mmmm, maybe you should leave, before I decide to take advantage of the fact that you are mine.”

“Take advantage...?” Shit. So, he had been right all those years ago?

Griffith huffed. “Guts, leave me. That IS an order.”

Guts shook his head. “Yes, your highness,” he muttered sarcastically. He pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed over Griffith, laying it on him gently. “Sleep well.”

Griffith murmured something that might have been a reply, but Guts couldn't make it out. He walked slowly to the door and opened it. It was quiet, well oiled. Guts shouldn't have been surprised. He paused and looked back at the hint of silver peeking out from under the blanket. He smiled warmly, and closed the door softly behind him.

 

Under the blankets, Griffith lay motionless, listening for the sounds of Guts fading footsteps. He shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have allowed that closeness. The warmth that was still spreading through him was softening him, blunting the sharp edges of his resolve. Guts was dangerous. A tool to be used. A blunt weapon to smash down all the walls standing between him and his shining castle.

He couldn't afford to feel.

He didn't cry softly as he fell asleep.

 

~~~~

 

Guts made his way to the tavern he knew most of the Hawks would be at, smiling. He felt lighter than usual. Secretly, he was quite pleased with himself for being able to help his friend relax. Griffith did too much, he never took enough time to unwind. Guts opened the door, and the noise of the rowdy tavern fell out.

“GUTS!” Rickert squealed happily waving a tankard in the air. “OVER HERE!”

Guts waved, then grabbed a tankard for himself and headed over.

“And just where were you all night, again? You do have responsibilities,” Caska started in, but Guts cut her off, smiling gently.

“I was helping Griffith, remember?”

“Oh...” she paused, and Guts patted her gently on the head. “Hey!” she barked, and swatted at his hand. Guts laughed.

“What's got you in such a good mood?” she asked, giving him a sidelong glance as they sat down.

Guts shrugged. “I guess it was just nice spending time with Griffith again. He's been so busy, it's not like it used to be.”

Caska made a face and stared into her tankard. “I'm glad SOMEBODY is able to see Griffith.”

“Oh calm down. He said he'd come down tomorrow after he got some more work done.”

Rickert lept up as he overheard. “Wait Guts, Griffith is gonna come hang out with us? When?” he interrupted, leaning over the table and almost knocking Corkus' ale to the floor.

“Hey! Watch it there!”

Pippin lifted Rickert off the table and back into his seat, then patted him on the head.

“Yeah well, it's about TIME he came down from on high and spent time with us,” Corkus complained. “ I was beginning to think he forgot all about us up there in that castle, surrounded in luxury.”

“But Griffith has so much to do!” Rickert protested as Guts snickered to himself about the luxury comment, thinking of Griffith's sparse bedchamber.

“I KNOW Griffith is busy, but...!” Corkus was cut off by a small knife that landed in the table right in front of him, stuck deep in the wood with the force of impact.

“Don't worry about it, Corkus. Griffith won't forget about us,” Judeau said calmly, picking his fingernails with a blade that matched the one before Corkus. Corkus just drained his ale in response.

 

Caska leaned over towards Guts and spoke as softly as she could, while still being heard. “Griffith... he's alright? He's been, well. We haven't seen him much and when I saw him earlier today he just didn't seem like himself. He was distracted. I know the court puts a lot of pressure on him... I just wish. I just wish there was something we could do.”

“Griffith is fine. Just tired. I put him to bed, so he wouldn't stay up all night working on those stupid reports.”

Caska raised her eyebrow. “Griffith let you 'put him to bed'?”

“What? I can be persuasive sometimes!”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” She shook her head. “As long as he's okay.”

Guts put a hand on her shoulder. “He's gonna be okay. He's Griffith.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “So, what did he want, anyway?” she asked, tilting her head at him.

“Dunno, he never did say.”

“Fine, don't tell me.” she huffed.

“Hey! I'm being serious here! He said it was just something and he'd already done it by the time I got there. Really.”

Caska sighed. “Well, we should turn in too. Our companies have drills at sun-up, don't forget!” she said, poking Guts in the bicep.

“I could never forget anything, you'd never let me,” he laughed, smiling at Caska.

She looked at him strangely. Guts... didn't usually smile. Not like this, not at her. “Yeah, well, someone has to get you where you need to be, you sure can't do it.”

Guts threw an arm around Caska's shoulders. “C'mon, lets go get some rest, too.”

She stiffened at first, and then relaxed. “Okay, let's go,” she agreed. “COME ON HAWKS, LET'S GO! DRILLS AT SUN UP!” There was some grumbling, but tankards were swiftly emptied, and the Hawks followed Guts and Caska to the barracks to prepare for the next day.


End file.
